


can you sink ships with your pink thighs

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, put me in a trashbag, thigh porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4979890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin is meant to be a distraction, but with Jason the line begins to blur as to who exactly he’s working so hard to distract.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can you sink ships with your pink thighs

Dick, when he wasn’t flipping and cartwheeling and handstanding all over the place, always tended to curl in on himself, make himself as small as possible as he did his homework in his favorite armchair or watched tv, always tucked his feet under him at the dinner table until Alfred clucked at him for it and made him sit properly. When Bruce would check in on him those first few months while he slept Dick was always a tiny ball in the middle of the bed, knees pulled up, hands balled into tiny fists at his chest. 

Whereas Dick tried to take up the least amount of space as possible, Jason takes it as a challenge to see just how much space he can take up and make his own, always has to be touching _something._ When he sleeps it’s like a starfish, four points stretched out as far as he reach like he’s trying to lay claim to every inch of the bed so everyone knows it’s his. 

When he does his homework, instead of squashing himself into an armchair with his book propped on his knees and folded in half, Jason sprawls out on the area rug, books and papers scattered in front of him, alternates between reading on his back and his stomach. Sometimes he goes down to the cave right after school and gets in a little training before he goes back up to finish his homework, lays out on the carpet in his short workout shorts that inch up his thighs when he rolls onto his back and props his feet up on the couch. He smirks at Bruce when Bruce touches his ankle, glaring at him hotly.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Dunno what you mean,” Jason says and Bruce can see the faint birthmark on the inside of his thigh, the fine dusting of hair there. “Just doing my homework.”

“Master _Jason_ ,” Alfred tsks him when he walks into the room to dust, knocking Jason’s feet off the couch, and suddenly, Bruce remembers somewhere else he needs to be. 

 

: : :

 

He rationalizes the costume over in his mind a thousand, a million times. It was Dick’s costume. Dick was an acrobat, moved better without the restrictions, was used to a leotard. Jason was none of those things and yet he doesn’t mock or jest, doesn’t ask to change the costume. He’s just happy to be wearing it, _proud._

Robin is meant to be a distraction, but with Jason the line begins to blur as to who exactly he’s working so hard to distract. He kicks high and Bruce sees the flex of muscle in his thighs. He thinks of their training sessions, Jason pinning him to the ground, the strength of those thighs squeezing around him. Bruce thinks he might spend more time thinking about those thighs than he does about cases anymore. 

The only time Jason ever complains is when it’s cold out, his breath leaving his mouth in white puffs of air. 

“B,” he says, shivering mostly for dramatic effect. “My legs are cold. Warm them up?”

And Bruce ends up with his gauntlets tossed on some rooftop, rubbing his palms up and down Jason’s thighs, squeezing his hands around them, warming the skin from knee to hip, until Jason shudders and gasps and Bruce chases the noise with his mouth.

At least it warms him up.

 

: : :

 

Jason’s a smart boy. Observant. He knows exactly what he looks like and what he’s doing and what he _does_ to Bruce. He’s caught Bruce staring enough times to know where Bruce’s fixations lies. 

He’s in short shorts again when he joins Bruce on the couch, flops down on the opposite end and sprawls out, letting his legs fall open. 

Bruce doesn’t look. He doesn’t look for about three seconds and then he does, turns his head and catches the glint in Jason’s eyes, then lets his gaze drift lower, to the smooth, pale skin of his thighs. They’re men’s thighs, thick and strong and corded with muscle from training, and Bruce thinks they’re almost too perfect. 

“Alfred’s gone to that show,” Jason says, a little breathless just from the way Bruce has been staring at him, and something in Bruce -- probably his already thin and ragged moral fiber -- just snaps. He pushes Jason all the way back against the couch and leans down, puts his mouth on the inside of Jason’s thigh, his nose brushing against the leg of Jason’s shorts, stubble scraping over his skin. 

“ _Ah_ ,” Jason says when Bruce’s lips close around the tender skin there, digs his fingers into Bruce’s shoulder when Bruce sucks the skin into his mouth, applying tight and hard pressure until Jason is squirming beneath him and whimpering. 

Bruce pulls back an inch and studies the mark on the inside of Jason’s thigh, the size of a quarter or a half dollar maybe, red and purple where the blood vessels had burst beneath his skin. He strokes the inside of Jason’s other thigh with his thumb, all the way down to the crease where Jason’s thigh meets his groin and Jason’s hips jerk at the touch and Bruce dips his head again, sucking a matching bruise into that side as well. 

He goes like that forever, likes the contrast of red and purple against Jason’s fair skin, is so fascinated by the first two marks he left that he can’t seem to stop, just makes a place between Jason’s thighs and sucks kisses into them, sinks his teeth into the flesh until he can pull back and see the imprint his teeth left behind, until Jason’s thighs are a wreck, the muscles in them quivering.

“Jesus, what are you doing?” Jason breathes out, pupils blown, bottom lip bitten red as Bruce laves his tongue up and down the inside of his thighs, over the bruises and bite marks and freckles, sucks a kiss around the birthmark shaped like a peach. “Stop _teasing._ ”

Bruce sits back, his hands still on Jason’s thighs, and cocks an eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Jason licks his lips, bites down on his lip. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not,” Bruce says, hooking his fingers into Jason’s shorts and dragging them down his hips, all the way off his legs. Jason’s eyes are big and round, so black they look wet, the way they get every time Bruce is about to fuck him, only this time Bruce doesn’t get his fingers in him, doesn’t bury his tongue inside of Jason to get him and nice and wet. 

This time Bruce just shoves his pants down enough to get his cock out and pulls Jason’s legs over his shoulders, closes his eyes when he pushes his cock between Jason’s legs, the precome leaking from the tip smearing all up and down Jason’s thighs.

“God, Jason,” Bruce gasps, looking when Jason squeezes his thighs around him. Bruce runs his hands down Jason’s legs, kneads the muscles in his thighs as he fucks them slow, relishing the drag of his cock between that soft, smooth skin. 

“You could just fuck me, you know,” Jason says, but he’s gone a little breathless too, his chest and face flushed pink. “Like a _normal_ person.”

“I know,” is all Bruce says, kissing the inside of Jason’s calf as he fucks between his thighs, his breath coming out in sharp, ragged bursts. He hasn’t gotten off like this since boarding school, never really saw the need for it, never _craved_ it as badly as he has the past few weeks, watching Jason torture him in short shorts and the most beautiful thighs he’s ever seen. 

“You wanna come all over them, don’t you?” Jason says, wetting his mouth and Bruce hips jerk just a bit, his cock getting even impossibly harder.

“God,” Bruce pants because yes, _yes_ , he can’t think of anything he’s ever wanted more and god, just the thought of it has him spiraling out of control, gripping Jason’s thighs in a too-tight grip that will probably leave bruises and fucking Jason’s thighs until a strangled moan is choked out of him and he pulls back, takes his cock in his hand and paints the inside of Jason’s thighs with his come. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jason says when Bruce crawls back down between his legs again and starts licking his thighs, cleaning up the mess he made, and Jason barely gets off two or three good strokes before he’s jerking beneath Bruce and coming all over his stomach, groaning when Bruce moves up and licks that clean too. 

“You’re beautiful,” Bruce says when he crawls up and kisses him, tasting like his own come and like Jason’s, frames Jason’s face between his big hands. “But I am thinking we may need to add some tights to the costume.”

Jason just grins, pushes Bruce’s sweaty hair out of his face. “Never.”


End file.
